


an ageless heart

by ninwrites



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, David Bowie Tribute, Future Fic, Grief/Mourning, Hurt Magnus Bane, Inspired by Fanart, M/M, Magnus Bane Needs A Hug, Mentions of Cancer, Mentions of Death, Post-Canon, References to David Bowie, Sad and Happy, Sad and Sweet, Songfic, Supportive Alec Lightwood, Vague, because of s3, but there, introspective, poetic feel, slightly canon divergent, told with memories
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-10
Updated: 2018-01-10
Packaged: 2019-03-03 03:19:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13332381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninwrites/pseuds/ninwrites
Summary: “Because the weight of human life is so important, so utterly precious and hardly cherished the way it should be; it’s sand through a broken hourglass, spilling onto hands that can’t catch enough grains to keep a fleeting life together.”Magnus mourns the marked passing of a dear old friend, finding comfort in memories and music, and lets himself fall apart, safe and supported in a love that won’t let him down.





	an ageless heart

**Author's Note:**

> Two years ago, on this day, David Bowie passed. Whilst his music was a distant part of my life, one of the biggest parts of my childhood, which stands out to me in crystal clarity, is watching him in the Labyrinth: knowing that he is no longer in this world is still something I have trouble wrapping my mind around. 
> 
> I wrote this in respect, in remembrance, and tribute to one of the brightest souls the world has been graced with. 
> 
> (this is also dedicated, in part, to my friend [Shi](https://twitter.com/ShirmirArt), who drew the [phenomenal art](https://twitter.com/ShirmirArt/status/909896205739708416) of Magnus and David, which inspired this entire fic. if you haven't found her art before, prepare to be entirely and utterly blown away.)
> 
> \--
> 
> Lyrics used, and the title, are from David Bowie's song, 'Cat People (Putting Out Fires)'

**_See these eyes so green, I can stare for a thousand years._ **

 

It’s the tender press of lips against his forehead that brings Magnus to a slow-waking consciousness, the whisper of breath across his cheek as another kiss brushes against his jaw that sets his heart racing. Magnus stretches out, toes curling against the sheets, feather-light fingertips curling against his jaw.

 

“Morning, babe.” Alec’s voice is warm in the quiet. “I have to leave early for work, there’s been some crisis with patrol schedules, and the Inquisitor has scheduled a sudden, impromptu meeting for noon.”

 

“Bastards.” Magnus mumbles, forcing his bleary eyes open. “The lot of them.”

 

Alec laughs, softly, hand dropping down to Magnus’ shoulder. “I know. Trust me, I don’t want to be gone this early, but I’m hoping that I’ll be able to get everything done in time to be home for dinner. Maybe we can go out somewhere, treat ourselves.”

 

Magnus blinks, lids heavy and gaze losing focus as he tries to keep it on Alec’s beautiful smile. “I’d like that, it sounds nice.” He sighs, sleep pulling him back, even as he pushes against it. The night before had been long and tiring, and he has barely the energy to fight it. “I love you.”

 

Alec smoothes his thumb across Magnus’ jaw, dropping a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “I love you too.”

 

He pulls away, reluctantly, hand trailing across Magnus’ arm before he leaves the room, boots barely making a note of sound on the carpet. Magnus drifts back to sleep not long after, though it’s in fitful patches, something cold and unsettling dropping to the pit of his gut like a stone.

 

Dreams evade his mind, sleep a blank canvas with tears through the fabric, breaking up the peace with spots of confused and faint consciousness. It’s enough for him for the survivalist purpose of energy, but there’s no pleasure or relaxation to be found in it.

 

The next time he wakes, a few tense hours later, it’s tangled in his silk sheets with a dull ache in the back of his head and exhaustingly bright sunlight poking at his skin like heated needlepoints.

 

He hasn’t had nearly enough sleep, his limbs heavy as he drags them out of bed, the worst part of it all being how infuriatingly _awake_ he is. He’s tired, far too much to do anything productive with his day, but staying in bed would only leave him wallowing and frustrated, sleep dancing tauntingly out of reach.

 

He doesn’t have many clients for the day, none until the afternoon if his memory recalls correctly, but Magnus wonders if it might be smarter for him to cancel all of his appointments, considering he’ll hardly be able to perform to the ability his reputation speaks of.

 

He mulls over his options as he trudges towards the bathroom, haphazardly wrapping a cobalt robe around himself; the loft is warm, because it’s set to be that way, but the very ends of his fingers are cold and he’s, perplexed to say the least.

 

The bathroom light is luminescent and harsh, pinpricks behind his tired eyelids. It’s only once he stares in the mirror, at the shadows across his cheeks, the lines creasing the corners of his mouth, the dim green and gold of his unglamoured eyes - that the reality of the day, and the reason behind his symptoms, come to him.

 

With lyrics, the kind that slip through his ears and stick to the edges of his mind: _See these eyes so green, I can stare for a thousand years._

 

The phantom shatter of his heart is not a sensation he’s new to, but quantity of effect does little to heal the snap of his heart strings as they’re cut like a puppet’s. It’s only been two years, barely a blink in the scheme of an immortal’s life, but since he met Alec, Magnus has taken to appreciating every tiny second for all it’s worth.  

 

Grief has a much stronger impact, and the reminder of human tragedy burns hotter than a steel blade scorched at all ends. Although the friendship had been unlikely, in theory alone, he had a connection with his lost friend deeper than he shared with most, and in the recent months he’s barely spared a second thought.

 

His fingers are cold, because his magic is, because it’s a key part of him, tied in with his emotions and the wayward track they have - because it’s a subconscious punishment, for being so awfully neglectful.

 

He almost missed it. He almost missed the anniversary - he certainly missed the mark of his birth, which hurts almost just as much.

 

Cancelling his plans is one of many things Magnus needs to do, today.

 

* * *

 

**_Colder than the moon, it’s been so long. And I’ve been putting out fire with gasoline._ **

 

Magnus spends the better half of the morning organising donations to each fund and charity his friend spent his good heart fighting for; _Every Mother Counts_ , for the education and support of maternal and infant health; _The Lunchbox Fund,_ for the provision of food to disadvantaged children; _Witness_ , for the empowerment of victims of human rights violations, to transform stories of abuse into powerful tools of justice and change.

 

And many, many more, because the man’s heart was truly made of gold, rare and special, and Magnus wants to pay respect to that.

 

It doesn’t help, the way Magnus had hoped. It simply tears the hole in Magnus’ chest further open, the tips of his fingers frozen to a degree minus the room temperature. He finds himself straying to the balcony, towards the sun that burns bright like a fire in the hopes that something tangible and real might help him feel something that isn’t pain, numbed at the edges like ice on a healing wound.

 

Grief affects him in different ways, it always has, but this just makes him feel hollow and - sad. Because the weight of human life is so important, so utterly precious and hardly cherished the way it should be; it’s sand through a broken hourglass, spilling onto hands that can’t catch enough grains to keep a fleeting life together.

 

There’s nothing he could have done, to save his dear friend, the disease that had taken over his body a cruel monster not even Magnus had the power to defeat - _a fact which hurts perhaps the worst of all -_ and in the time since, with wars to fight, demons to vanquish, evil to defeat and love, true love to look after … he’d barely spared a thought.

 

People live on in the memories their loved ones hold - it is without those memories that legacies are lost, and the great man that his friend was deserves a legacy that lasts longer than even Magnus is expected to live.

 

He’s been negligent, and it’s all knocking on his shoulders like a mound of rocks atop his shoulders, a toppling weight he’s struggling to hold without causing even more destruction around him.  
  


* * *

 

**_See these eyes so red, red like jungle burning bright. Those who feel me near, pull the blinds and change their minds; it’s been so long._ **

 

Magnus’ violet nails are a soft contrast to the black and white moment framed in glass, clutched between hands that grip a little too tight. He remembers the night it was taken, as clearly as though he’d only woken from the hangover the morning before.

 

It was taken backstage at Shea Stadium, in Queens; his friend, David, had invited him to a concert of The Clash, because Magnus hadn’t yet the chance to meet the band. He’d met David a few years prior, thanks to a mutual friend, a vampire masquerading as a human in the budding nightlife atmosphere, and they’d hit it off, almost instantaneously.

 

Not romantically, for although David was a very handsome man, he was also complicated, as artists of his calibre and talent often are, and it was not the time for Magnus to find someone complex - he wasn’t looking for anyone, just fun, just friends and an excuse to laugh as though he truly didn’t have a care.

 

David gave him that - David managed to spark the carefree, laidback side of him, that hadn’t been seen since the late 18th century, when he’d dallied around France and almost gotten himself killed for a pretty face, and good soul.

 

The soul of a soldier, it so turned out, a warrior with eyes for only his queen - Magnus has a type, it seems; those who put their energy into protecting the safety of others. Although fortunately, this time has turned in his favour.

 

As if on cue, Magnus notes the short clip of the front door as it swings closed, and then, quietly spoken as though afraid of breaking a silence that’s precariously thin: “Magnus? Are you home?”

 

It’s early, Magnus thinks, as he waves a hand towards the balcony doors, letting them swing open lazily. _He’s_ early - it can’t have been more than a few hours since he left.

 

Right?

 

Alec’s steps make no sound, his foot-falls quiet without his heavy-duty boots, no louder than his voice when it fractures the atmosphere; “Hey.”

 

Short. Simple. Monosyllabic. Everything that Alec knows, Magnus needs.

 

“Hello,” Magnus glances up from the frame in his hands. “Alexander. You’re home early.”

 

Alec swallows, taking another step forward, though he makes no move to take a seat. “There’s nothing important at the Institute waiting for me, nothing that can’t wait another day. Or more.”

 

Magnus strokes his thumb along the weathered frame. “Didn’t you have a meeting with the Inquisitor?” _Or did I imagine that?_

 

Alec rubs his socked foot against his calf. “I did. I cancelled it. The matters she wanted to discuss are nothing that cannot be pushed back another day - angel knows that she has done the same, more times than I care to count.”

 

Magnus stares, gaze sharp and quick. “You pushed back a meeting with the Inquisitor?”

 

Alec nods, pink flushing the bottom of his cheeks. “It wasn’t important.”

 

Magnus frowns, trying to catch note of any humour, waiting for the ball to inevitably drop - but it never comes. “What is, important then?”

 

Alec shrugs. “You.”

 

He pauses, for a moment, even as Magnus feels the metaphoric ground beneath his feet threaten to crumble, before crossing to the edge of the daybed, leaving a respectable distance between them. Magnus stares at the memory etched in shades; neither of them had even been aware that the photo was taken, not until weeks afterward.

 

“Cat, rang me - fortunately I was in my office, not the middle of a meeting, and was able to answer it.” Alec clenches his hand over his knee, the other tucked beneath his thigh. “I thought, at first, that something terrible had gone wrong, something that needed my immediate attention - but then, why hadn’t you called?”

 

Magnus swallows, denting his thumb with the edge of the frame. He can’t find the words to say aloud, can’t speak past the wall in his throat. But Alec doesn’t mind.

 

“I worried at first, that something had happened to you. I couldn’t breathe. Cat was quick to reassure me that you were okay, but there was something _off_ , about how she said it.”

 

There’s a beat of silence, and then Alec’s hand stretches in the space between them, resting atop the silk pants Magnus had managed to tug on, somewhere between the bathroom and the balcony.

 

“You’re not, okay.” Alec whispers. “Are you?”

 

He knows, Magnus isn’t stupid, he can tell when Alec knows - and there’s something reassuring about it, about knowing that he isn’t alone, but the grief … the grief is all his, that’s something that even Alec can’t take away, despite how determined he’d be to try.

 

“No,” Magnus whispers. “No, Alexander, I’m afraid I’m not.”

 

* * *

 

It’s too tiring, to keep his glamour up - not that he ever feels he has to, around Alec, it’s just something that stands out to him, when the ability is out of reach. It’s not that he wants to put his glamour up around Alec, but rather, that he wishes for the mere ability to.

 

For something that would make him feel a little more like himself, something that made sense, something that helped him feel - normal.

 

David had a saying, he recalls, as Alec’s thumb strokes idly across the back of his hand, and the ground shifts and quakes; the thought of which brings back memories he’d long since pushed aside.

 

There were at an afterparty, of Magnus’ hosting, at a venue long since demolished. The floor had been flooded with dancing heels and spinning coats, the tipsy laughter of those stocked at the bar from one side to the other a fitting soundtrack to the night.

 

He and David found themselves out on the balcony, one not all that dissimilar to the one he’s curled up on now, though the streets and buildings are vastly different. David wasn’t one for crowds the way that Magnus was, and the night they resorted out to open air was a tough night for them both.

 

David had his own problems, that he wasn’t ready to admit, and Magnus had heard wind of Camille dripping blood-stained footprints into New York. And so, they camped out, away from the music and the people and any drama that desired to stick to their backs like an extra, unwanted shadow.

 

It was always easy, the atmosphere between them; Magnus never felt judged, for anything - not on the side of the man whose alter ego was _Ziggy Stardust,_ a character born from a song that changed the landscape of rock-and-roll, and music much further than that.

 

It was Ziggy, and all the meaning attached, which led Magnus to showing the first mundane in centuries, at least, his real eyes - without fear of scaring them off, without the want to.

 

David had called them fascinating, and Magnus was just tipsy enough to see that word as a good thing: and then, David had cradled his beer, tipped the neck to his lips and muttered: _“I always had a repulsive need to be something more than human_.”

 

It was the dark, coiling monster that lives inside those with a desire to create, that had spoken then: the side of David that dared to be different, manifested into something melancholic and crestfallen.

 

The want that all humans, all creatures, have resting inside of them: the impossible to resist, utter _want_ for that with which they don’t have.

 

David had wanted something that would truly make him stand out, whereas Magnus had spent his entire life searching for _something -_ anything - that wouldn’t ostracise him as a monster, that would ensure that he is, after all, as human as his mother had been.

 

And yet, as folly as it sounded, something in that moment had brought them closer together; here was a mundane, with the burning heart of a star and the debris of space in his veins, yet still very human, who didn’t turn away or tremble in horror at the cat eyes poking beneath Magnus’ thickly dawn liner, but rather, embraced the difference he wished he shared in.

 

David would have made cat eyes a fashion revolution - in fact, a rough decade or so later, he tried. Because David wasn’t afraid to do what others wouldn’t: David, Magnus proposed, was rather afraid of himself, of his mind and his power and the inescapable variety his creative self held dear.

 

Magnus knows how it feels to fear oneself: he fears the fire that flashes in his eyes, the fury that wraps in ropes around his arms, the blood of hell that burns his veins with every breath he takes.

 

In a way, he was able to bond with David on that level; although it wasn’t the base for their friendship, it was a part that stands out, upon reflection.

 

He only wishes that time hadn’t run from them.

 

* * *

 

**_Still this pulsing night, a plague I call a heartbeat._ **

 

Concerts were where David came alive. There was a fire inside of him that roared as soon as he jumped on stage, carried by the energy of the crowd and the rebel inside of him that fought against the mold so many tried to force him into.

 

On stage, David was free, and that was a sensation that Magnus couldn’t help but envy.

 

He always watched from the sidelines, the edge of the crowd or hidden backstage, where there was a divide between those who came to watch David, to thrash and revel and pour their heart out - and Magnus, who on days, had trouble even believing he had a heart in the first place.

 

It was an era of fragile people looking for faith in something tangible, something that wouldn’t hurt them the way the rest of the world was, but Magnus was broken, and he needed more than just a few heavy riffs to suture his wounds.

 

It was enough, on some days, to just watch, to just be in the moment - it was enough, until it wasn’t.

 

Until the pulse of music bore into his mind, driving him insane, somehow always aligning with the beat of an organ he’d no trust in. It was the kind of beat that never left, not when the venue cleared, not three days later when he was curled up in his four-poster bed, one leg stuck out as he searches desperately for a state of mind more peaceful.

 

He’d hoped that New York would give him a break, from the hurt and the existential darkness that followed him like a storm cloud, raining down on any bright moment he tried to have; there had been flashes, but nothing that lasted long enough, not within a life without end.

 

Magnus envied David’s persistence, going up on stage each night, pouring his soul into what he did, even when it was exhausting, even when he wanted nothing to do with the crowd screaming his name; Magnus cancelled on a client if they so much as blinked at him wrong.

 

Magnus had lost patience with the world, worn down to his creaking bones by the depravity of it all - he was bitter and lost, and he’d given up on trying to hide it.

 

The world could burn, and he’d thank it.

 

* * *

 

**_Just be still with me; well you wouldn't believe what I've been through_ **

 

When Alec’s fingers brush against the pulse of Magnus’ wrist, it jolts a spark beneath his skin; but Magnus doesn’t pull away.

 

He curls his hand into a fist around the frame, and then offers it to Alec. “His name was David,” Magnus whispers, slowly lifting his gaze. “David Bowie.”

 

“Oh,” Alec takes the frame gingerly, as though it’s something fragile - because it is, to Magnus. It’s fragile and precious, and unsurprisingly, Alec understands and respects that. “Was he-”

 

“A friend.” Magnus wants to laugh, but he’s afraid it will bubble into tears, instead. “A very dear friend. Never anything more.”

 

Alec’s hand stills, fingers spread out along the bottom of the frame. “I didn’t mean to insinuate - I mean, of course you had friends, I just-”

 

“I understand.” Magnus swallows past the lump in his throat, the corner of his mouth threatening to turn up. “You were simply curious. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

 

Alec nods, although the heat creeping up his cheeks is still bright. His fingers curl, in the place where Magnus’ had, back at the time of the photo being taken. He makes a slight humming sound, a pointed noise, before tracking his gaze back across the image.

 

“What?” Magnus asks, unable to help himself.

 

Alec shrugs, glancing up with a slight tilt of his head. “Nothing, much, it’s just - you must have been close, to him. You look, comfortable here,” Alec blinks, something strong in the quiet of his voice. “Happy.”

 

Magnus sinks back against the daybed, accepting the edge of the frame as Alec holds it between them, his own hand wrapped around the other side. His shoulder brushes Magnus’, but Magnus barely feels it.

 

He had been happy, there, if distractedly so. David had a charm, about him, the kind that few mortals seemed capable of wielding for good, the kind that dissolved the rest of the world, until the only thing that could be heard was his warm voice spinning tales like delicate spider’s web, the only thing to see the twinkle of his dancing eyes as he winked, cheeky and daring.

 

“I was, happy.” Magnus feels tears prick at the corners of his eyes, unable to be kept at bay any longer. “He always knew how to make other people smile, even when he couldn’t summon the strength to, himself.”

 

Magnus shakes his head, at war between the tears and the smile that threatens to twist his lips up. “He had this _energy_ about him, it was - electric, and yet, oddly calm. Comfortable. Honest, for the most part; everyone has something to hide, but you didn’t feel cheated or lied to when he kept something quiet.”

 

Alec clears his throat, and then: “He sounds like an incredible person.”

 

Magnus brushes his cheek with the back of his hand. “He was,” He manages to utter, as droplets slip and slide down his face. “Until the last moment, when the sky called him home.”

 

* * *

 

**_See these tears so blue; an ageless heart can never mend. These tears can never dry; a judgement made, can never bend._ **

 

It’s Alec’s idea, because of course it is.

 

He encourages Magnus into taking a bath, during which he rests against Alec’s chest, eyes fluttered closed as Alec massages sandalwood into his hair and across his skin in sweeping waves; he lets himself relax, lets himself feel, lets himself get taken care of.

 

The towel Alec wraps around his shoulders is fluffy and warm, the kiss pressed to his forehead tender and sweet. Alec leaves him to get dressed, while he sets his sights on brewing elderberry tea, a tip Catarina had encouraged, and then, with Alec’s palm pressed flush against his own, with trust and love supporting him, they make their way up to the rooftop.

 

Against Alec’s protests, Magnus conjures up the daybed from the balcony, along with an oversized blanket to keep them warm, and a turntable, inscribed along the sides with signatures from many whose presence had touched Magnus’ heart.

 

On the bottom right corner, in a scribble that would appear messy to somebody who didn’t know the man, shines David’s - big and as loud as the man himself. It hurts, a little, to look at, but only in the way that grief is always bound to. Painful, but bearable.

 

The music wasn’t part of Alec’s idea - his was simply to sit on the rooftop, and relax beneath the stars, after Magnus’ comment about how David had returned to them. But Magnus knows that, if he wants to come to terms with the grief he never let himself feel, if he wants to live on as David would have urged, to make the most of the life he was given, then he can’t spend it within his own melancholy.

 

He wants to reconnect, to remind himself that David’s life wasn’t for nought, that he got as much out of it as the rest of the world, that his passing isn’t a tragedy as much as it is the return of a celestial being, the relocation from one plane to another.

 

Magnus rests his head on Alec’s shoulders, hands tangled between them, and waves forth the spin of the vinyl record. The song that plays brings forth a sense of peace, even as the tear tracks dry on Magnus’ cheeks, as his fingers wrap themselves a little too tightly around Alec’s.

 

On the fifth verse, Magnus begins to sing along, soft and quiet beneath his breath, his head resting against Alec’s heartbeat. _“Just be still with me, you wouldn’t believe what I’ve been through.”_

 

Alec presses a kiss to Magnus’ temple, one arm wrapped around his back, and Magnus keeps singing, even as his voice breaks on the vowels. _“You’ve been so long. Well, it’s been so long. And I’ve been putting out the fire with gasoline.”_

 

“You have a beautiful voice,” Alec whispers, stroking a hand up Magnus’ back. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you sing before.”

 

“It’s not something I do, all that often.” Magnus lifts his head, blinking back the neverending tears, as the record clicks over to another song. “But thank you. I always thought that David’s voice was something incomparable, but now - there’s something more grounded about the song, now that I’m listening to it, after.”

 

_After_. Such a dreadfully morose term.

 

“I don’t mean to sound, insensitive or anything but - he was, human.” Alec whispers. “I think that, even with all of somebody’s talents and strength, no one is ever, invinceable. Even a pedestal can be broken.”

 

Magnus hums, tracking the creases at the corners of Alec’s eyes, the pinch of his lips pressed tightly together. “You put forth quite a convincing argument,” He acknowledges. “I’ve always believed that people have a spark in them, something that makes them stand out, makes them special - but, by the same token, the same can be said about vulnerability.”

 

He leans forward, brushing a kiss against the apple of Alec’s cheek. “Thank you, Alexander.”

 

“For what?” Alec asks, forehead lined with confusion.

 

Magnus feels a swell of love, unexpected but welcome. “For reminding me that we all breathe, that we’re all born to die, that making the most of life is what is most important.”

 

Alec pouts, thumb pressed against Magnus’ wrist. “That sounds so, sad.” He states. “I was trying to make you feel better.”

 

Magnus shakes his head, fondly. “It’s a good thing, Alexander, I promise. Too often we get caught up in the notion of legacies and what-happens-after, and we waste time that could be better spent on treasuring what we’re lucky enough to have. Life, and love, and happiness - something that makes getting out of bed in the morning, worth it.”

 

Alec doesn’t seem quite convinced, worried that he crossed a line with no possibility of returning, and it hurts in an entirely different way, to witness how deeply Alec cares, how the force of his love reflects back on him.

 

“David lived life with the intention of being proud, and happy, not with the concern of others.” Magnus explains, shifting closer, eliminating even the barest glimpse of space between them. “I didn’t get so see him, on his last days, but I spoke to him a few weeks before, and he sounded - at peace. I believe that he passed that way, and that’s the most important part. That he made the most of the chance he was given.”

 

Magnus lifts Alec’s hand, pressing a kiss to the ridge of his knuckles, taking shelter in the steadiness of his heart, in the calm of the storm his grief has receded into. The day has been a journey, and he definitely feels heavy with the weight of it, but at the end he’s come to terms with a reality he’d spent centuries fighting against.

 

How unsurprising, that it’s Alec, who points it out with such strong and blatant honesty, without even intending to.

 

“It’s only thanks to you,” Alec whispers. “That I’m making the best of the chance I was given. If you hadn’t encouraged me to be true to myself, to fight for what I believe in, for a better life for me, and others like me - I would have wasted it.”

 

Magnus shakes his head in protest, but Alec is quicker. “I’m serious, Mags. I owe everything to you, the life I get to lead, the happiness and love that I’m surrounded in, it’s all - it’s all because of you. I’d be nothing more than a cardboard soldier if you hadn’t of been so determined to show me what I was missing out on.”

 

Magnus inhales deeply, heart stuttering a staccato beat. It would be an unbelievable statement, if Alec was the type to lie - but he’s not, he’s one of the most steadfastly honest people that Magnus has ever met.

 

Fortunately, Alec isn’t the only one who can wax honest and poetic, given the chance.

 

“You saved me,” Magnus admits. “The life I had been leading, before you came around, it was repetitive and endlessly monotone, and I had given up on the idea of love because I didn’t believe it was meant for me. And then, you came along.”

 

Alec’s eyes are shining, but his smile is bright and there’s something healing about the way he utters Magnus’ name. Something hopeful, about the press of his lips against the corner of Magnus’.

 

Something promising, about the way he mutters _I love you_ against Magnus’ cheek.

 

There’s always going to be grief that suffocates, always going to be a sadness that doesn’t wane and a darkness that strangles - but between it all, between the hard moments is light, and love, and hope-

 

And Alec.

 

**Author's Note:**

> the biggest love, gratitude, kudos and hugs to the heartbreakers™, who are some of the softest, most genuine and wonderfully supportive people that I have ever the luck to meet. this wouldn't have happened without you all. thank you.
> 
> and of course, a bonus round of love to everyone who encouraged me while I was writing this, who expressed interest and excitement and reminded me why this was so important. you're all amazing humans. 
> 
> I sincerely hope that you enjoyed this, and I hope just the same that this conveyed the love and respect that a tribute to such a legendary man deserves. thank you for reading.
> 
> \--
> 
> links - for those interested:
> 
> twitter: [ninwrites](https://mobile.twitter.com/ninwrites) for fic stuff/updates/snippets + [malteser_24](https://mobile.twitter.com/malteser_24) for general fandom mess + small threads  
> tumblr: I've recently moved accounts - now, I have a writing tumblr, which you can find [here](https://ninwrites.tumblr.com/)
> 
> thank you for reading.
> 
> \- Nin ❤


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